


white

by orphan_account



Series: lipstick / lace / skin [2]
Category: The Horrors (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossdressing, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Unsafe Sex, all i care about is rhys in panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:26:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the very first time Rhys wears pretty panties for Faris, and everything that leads up to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	white

so, the thing about it is, it's Rhys who has the idea first.

he brings it up one late night, when they're lying entangled and sweaty in the sheets which could be at his flat, or at Faris' own flat, maybe a hotel room. the point about this is, Faris doesn't remember now. this is after sex, when Rhys is all soft and boneless and fucked out, and Faris has spent the last few minutes cooing soft words of how much he loves Rhys, how beautiful he looks, and trailing kisses along his face and his bruised arms, over his neck where he's still got burning-red marks from the leather collar digging in. the leather collar was, surprisingly, also one of Rhys' ideas. sure, Faris is all about taking control during sex, about ensuring that whoever he's got under him at that particular moment is focussing on him and only him. still, the day that Rhys told him, “I want you to fuck me like you own me. like I'm yours to use,” while he was riding Faris on a bright-white hotel room carpet that looked like it hadn't ever been tread on, much less fucked on, Faris has to admit that he was taken aback a little right then.

his reaction when Rhys has recovered enough to form actual words and ask, “you ever think about women's clothes?” is similar, there's a jolt of confused surprise that twitches into him, but he's too tired to really move or think.

“what do you mean by that, women's clothes?” he asks into the sweaty-slippery curve of Rhys' neck.

“like, me wearing women's clothes.”

“does that get you off?” Faris brushes his lips against the spot just above Rhys' collarbone, the fading bruise there, and Rhys tightens the fingers he's got wound into Faris' hair and sighs a bit.

“I guess it does. the feel of them, the fabric, that's different from men's clothes. and being pretty.”

honestly, Faris hasn't really thought of this sort of thing before, and it doesn't seem all that appealing now, either. what gets him about Rhys, about the way he carries himself, it's that no matter how girlish he can be in his mannerisms and the way he dolls himself up, he's still more than distinctly male. it's the way he wears suit jackets and dress shirts and ties and presses himself into tighter-than-tight jeans that particularly draw attention to what's between his legs, that contrast between female and male. Rhys wearing women's clothes would ruin that.

“but you're already pretty.” Faris moves one hand to rub at the smudged black make-up below Rhys' eye and kisses his lips, feels them soft and bitten sore under his own.

“could be prettier.” Rhys smiles up at him, all tired and pale, and strokes one hand along Faris' upper arm. “we could ease into it or something, if that's all right with you. don't have to start right away with the whole deal, just...”

his eyes flutter shut when Faris strokes over his chest where his heartbeat is still pounding faster than normal, and Faris smiles to himself. “why not. got to try something new.”

“yeah. try something new,” Rhys repeats, eyes still closed, his face slack. he's kind of useless after sex, really, can't ever stay awake for more than ten minutes or so, but then, Faris guesses he can take that as a compliment. “I could just start off with more make-up, or...”

“you should go sleep for now,” Faris cuts him off. “we can talk details tomorrow, yeah?”

as it turns out, they never really end up talking details, but a few nights after, they're out at a club and Faris can't help but notice that Rhys has got more colour around his eyes than he normally would, dark silvery-grey covering the whole lid in addition to the usual black kohl. they're dancing together in one corner of the floor, and the room is dark enough, the lights flashing enough for no one to notice, so Faris pulls Rhys close to say in his ear, “you look different. did you do something with your eyes?”

“maybe,” Rhys replies, lips skimming the outer shell of Faris' ear.

when he pulls away, he bats his eyelashes, a trite, overly feminine gesture, and yeah, even in the blinding contrast of light and dark Faris swears he can tell that they're darker than normally, mascaraed to be smoky black. he lets one of his hands trail down Faris' chest before he moves out of where he's half-trapped between Faris and the wall and toward the bar.

sometimes Rhys is a bloody tease and Faris hates him for it, for being the type who spends the first part of the night running his hands all over Faris and letting him steal quick kisses and then goes off to not come back for the rest of the night, and Faris has half a mind to go find him and pull him into the club's toilets to give him what he deserves for playing hard to get.

come early morning, though, they end up back at Rhys' flat, and then Rhys is doing it again, batting his eyelashes while he's got Faris' cock stuffed into his mouth as deeply as it will go, just once, when he can tell that Faris is close. he's got one hand caressing Faris' balls, where the aching need to come has already been building up. the other one has two fingers slipped up his arse, rubbing at just the right spot, because Rhys had said he would make it good and he knows what will happen if he doesn't. what does it for Faris, though, that's Rhys looking up at him with this look of need and adoration and those fucking long lashes, and he's coming for what feels like ages.

Rhys laps it all up, naturally, sucks him through it, and when it's over and Faris feels boneless and empty, he smiles up at him with his thin lips splattered white, winks because he's got the fucking nerve, and reaches down to unbuckle the collar around his neck.

another time, they're in a hotel room, on tour somewhere in Scotland, Faris thinks, and it's a day off. Rhys comes back from record shopping sometime early in the afternoon, but instead of records, he's brought a cheap tube of lipstick. he's careful when he applies it, careful at first when he kisses Faris and begins to open his shirt, and Faris has to admit he doesn't look half bad like that, even when the particular shade is a bit too strong, makes Rhys look like a cheap whore, but then, that's what makes it interesting, makes him look like a submissive fuck toy too in addition to acting like one.

by the end of it, Faris ends up with red smeared around his mouth, his neck and his chest, deep red ringed around the base of his cock and staining the bright white pillowcase.

“fuck,” he says into Rhys' mouth when they're coming down, after he'd picked Rhys up and carried him over to the other bed because he refuses to sleep in that filth. “I feel like I've just shagged some groupie.”

“I'm the best groupie you could ask for, though. right?” Rhys leans up and kisses Faris, the red still all over his mouth. he tastes like wax and spit.

“you're better than any groupie.” Faris traces one red lip print on his collarbone and states, “but I've not felt this disgusting since I last shagged one.”

he really needs a shower, but then, Rhys is lying underneath him with smudgy eyes and a smudgy mouth, and the most maddening look of satisfaction on his face, like he's aware of the fact that he's slowly getting his way when it comes to the whole women's clothes thing. Faris almost thinks about going in for a second round, now that Rhys is already aching sore and exhausted. on the other hand, he might enjoy that a little bit too much.

the third time is some weeks from then, after tour has finished, and they're in Faris' bedroom. Rhys has his thin fingers working all over Faris, pulling his clothes off carefully and stroking his skin with touches so feather-light they border on insulting.

“stop being such a bloody tease,” Faris says, low under his breath, and guides both of Rhys' hands down to his briefs where he's already hard and waiting. he feels like it's been too long since they'd last gotten around to having sex, proper sex that wasn't restrained to quick backstage blow jobs and late night hand jobs in the van, that is, and he's pretty certain that Rhys feels the same, doesn't see how he can just go and be like that.

“I'm sorry,” Rhys says, whisper-soft, and then his thin fingers are tugging Faris' cock from his pants, stroking properly, and that's when Faris notices it, the other thing about this that's pretty much just insulting. “I won't do it again.”

Rhys' nails are painted, a deep shade of red, blood-red, and filed down carefully when normally they'd be stubby from playing the organ.

Faris reaches out and tugs Rhys forward by his collar to kiss him, bite his lip hard enough to break the skin, the type of kiss that makes it obvious that he deserves punishment. “shut up.”

he has Rhys on his front that night, fast and hard with one hand clamped over his mouth, riding him into the mattress. even through Faris' fingers muffling his noises, Rhys is squealing and whimpering, his thin fingers with those fucking red nails biting into the white sheet as a harsh contrast. Faris really, really doesn't want to let him get off on this, wants to leave him eager and aching and frustrated because who does he think he is, wants it to hurt. the problem is, Rhys is very clearly enjoying himself even then, grinding his hips between the bedspread and Faris' cock pushed almost to the hilt into him, until Faris decides that it's been enough and grabs him by the waist to hold him still.

Rhys comes first either way, with gasps and shudders and his fucking nails scrabbling hard enough at the sheets to leave little tears.

Faris doesn't let him ride it out, pulls his cock from him with one hand as soon as he feels Rhys' insides twitching and tilts Rhys' head sidewards enough with the other to spit in his mouth. he whispers, “you're a massive slag, Webb, aren't you,” in that tone of voice that lets him know it's supposed to be an insult, and Rhys just whines and moans and fucking enjoys it. Faris hates it so much, and when he moves his hand to finish himself off onto the scratched-sore skin of Rhys' back, it's the least satisfying orgasm he's had in a good while.

after that, Rhys seems to be aware that he's done something to piss him off, or at least he lays off the make-up for a while. he also spends the next few times they're at it trying his hardest to please Faris, doing what he says and trying to keep his noises to a minimum, letting himself be taken over, until one night when he's letting Faris press his head into the wall above the bed without protest.

“stop that already, will you,” Faris whispers into his skin, into the sensitive spot below his ear, and he's got to admit that he enjoys the way Rhys' breathing hitches when he tries to keep it even. “I like you more when you're not obeying.”

he forces Rhys' head harder against the solid concrete, hard enough that he knows for fact it must hurt, and he keeps rolling his hips, angling his thrusts downward at just the right angle that makes Rhys bite his lip and choke back little noises from the back of his throat. Faris is almost certain that he's got tears collecting in his eyes, and only when Rhys' mouth bursts open on a sound that could be a sob or a moan does he let go of the back of Rhys' head and watch him slump down onto the mattress.

“I'm sorry, Faris.”

“stop apologising.” Faris leans forward and presses a kiss to the sweaty skin between Rhys' shoulder blades where the muscles are twitching, and lets one hand trail down to Rhys' cock. “you're a good boy.”

it's still over a month until Rhys starts bringing up the whole women's clothes thing again, one night after a gig in a deserted corner of the venue when they're both in a hurry to get off. Faris is struggling to work Rhys' tight jeans down his legs only to realise that instead of the usual briefs he's wearing lacy white knickers, knickers that have a rather prominent bulge in them, at that.

he grudgingly pulls them down to join Rhys' trousers and tries to ignore them when he's working two spit-slick fingers into Rhys' hole, tries to ignore the fact that actually, he rather likes the look of them, the contrast of the soft feminine garment against Rhys' angular hips, and one part of Faris wants to not let Rhys come just for that. the larger part of him does, though, can't ignore the way Rhys is whispering nonsense under his breath while Faris' fingers prod at that one spot inside him repeatedly, the way his legs are shaking, and he's glad that Rhys stopped trying to control himself long enough ago. Faris ends up fucking him against the brick wall, pressing him there tightly with one hand gathering his wrists together while he's got his mouth working under Rhys' ear, calling him a gorgeous little whore, a perfect slut, and Faris doesn't even make any attempts to shut him up when he's moaning and begging for more.

“yes, yes, yes,” is the only coherent noise that leaves Rhys' mouth, over and over again, like he's agreeing that he really is a slut and a bitch and a whore, and Faris can tell that neither of them are going to last very long.

the last time it happens before the final time, before Rhys does the whole deal, as he calls it, they're back at his flat. this is a quiet night, without collars and slaps and rules and spat insults, one of those nights when Rhys puts on a soft record and insists on having the lights off. as much as he is a complete slag, he's also a bit of a romantic, and maybe that's the reason why it takes Faris so long to notice it.

by the time he does, he's got Rhys' legs draped over his shoulders, fucking deep into him, and only when he runs one hand along his ankle does he realise how soft and smooth the skin there is. Faris bends down and licks at Rhys' chest and collarbones, all the parts of Rhys he can reach between his legs folded forward, and he's completely hairless there too, hairless under his arms and between his legs. honestly, it feels a lot like fucking a girl, if it weren't for the sounds that leave Rhys' mouth, his flat chest and the way his cock pushes up against Faris' stomach when he leans forward to kiss the moans from Rhys' lips. Faris has to admit that it's pretty fucking sexy, and later, when they're done, he curls up against Rhys' side and strokes one hand all the way from his collarbones down to his thighs, feeling only smoothness where normally there'd be hair, and admits, “fine, you win.”

“win what?” Rhys' voice comes sleepily, his eyes half closed when he turns his head.

“the women's clothes thing. go ahead, do it. dress like a pretty girl for me.”

“you serious?”

“why would I be not serious?”

“don't know,” Rhys mumbles, and one of his thin hands comes up to thread into the hair at the back of Faris' head. “I'll do it, then.”

“great.” Faris pushes his head onto Rhys' chest, feels the skin there sweaty and pulsing with heartbeat underneath it, and he's not sure whether he should feel accomplished or self-loathing.

maybe he should know better by know, know that in the end, Rhys always gets his way.

the night it finally happens, Rhys calls Faris beforehand. “you should come over. I have something for you.” his voice is soft and breathy, sultry, almost, and Faris didn't know Rhys could even sound like that, and also, who does he think he is.

“didn't know I'd given you permission to decide when and where we have sex,” Faris replies, low in his throat. maybe he's just a little bit excited at the prospect of that 'something'. “but I'm assuming by the tone of your voice that it'd be worth it for me.”

“of course it is.”

“I hope so. you know what happens when you turn out to be wasting my time, Webb?”

Rhys' reply comes almost too quickly, like he's spitting the word out. “yes.”

“good. I'll see you in a few.”

“I'm waiting.”

Faris deliberately takes his time when he puts on his coat and shoes, wants to make Rhys wait for as long as possible. really, most of the time he's not sure whether Rhys being disobedient like this turns him on or makes him want to refuse Rhys sex for as long as possible, to teach him a lesson, but right now he's pretty sure that the turned-on half of him is winning the conflict. he pockets the leather collar from his bedside table before he leaves the house, and he takes his time during the short drive across town as well.

by the time he's standing outside Rhys' flat, it's been nearly half an hour since that phone call, and Faris is pretty sure that Rhys must be more than riled up by now, easy as he is, and he's also more than curious what exactly that 'something' is. the turned-on part of him has definitely taken over.

it takes him a few split seconds to realise what's going on when the door opens, a few split seconds to process that this is really Rhys who he's facing. for one, he seems to have grown about half a foot, tall enough that now he can look Faris straight in the eye. he's got black around his eyes again, his eyelids filled all the way in, sparkling with a hint of silver, and his lashes full and dark like his hair pushed perfectly into place. he's wearing lipstick once again, too, a deeper, more subtle shade of red that seems to make his pale skin even paler, the same deep shade of red as his nails and the dress he's wearing, a tight sleeveless velvet number that covers him from just below his collarbones to above his knees. Faris feels some uncomfortable mixture of being taken aback and being really fucking turned on.

“so what do you think?” Rhys curls his face into a smile, slow and seductive, and reaches out to touch one hand to Faris' chest.

“fuck.”

“what's that supposed to mean?” he's dragging the sentence, lets his voice curl around the words in overexaggeration like he's poorly imitating a girl's voice, and then he's batting those eyelashes again. somehow, it's fucking hot.

“this isn't what I expected.”

Rhys pouts and tilts his head a bit. “but I do look pretty for you, don't I?”

“you look beautiful.”

“I hope you think this will be worth it,” and he's back to his regular voice, breathing entirely too close to Faris' face before he's closing the gap between their mouths. he kisses Faris right in the doorway, eats at his mouth slowly like he's careful to not make a mess of the lipstick again. the thing about it is, honestly, Faris feels a bit out of his comfort zone. that's not a thing he'd ever thought he would feel, but they're basically in public and Rhys is dressed in drag and what if one of his neighbours just walks by, and probably the worst thing about this whole situation is that Rhys is the one who's setting the tempo, who's in control here. this is not how it's supposed to go.

“let me in, come on,” Faris commands, whispers it into Rhys' mouth and pushes him back with hands gripping his arms, his entirely hairless arms, and that feels like being mocked.

Rhys takes two slow steps backward, pulls Faris with him until they're far enough into the hallway to slam the door shut, and only then is that Faris notices that he's wearing heels, too, black strappy heels and dark nylons. he just keeps on pulling, dragging Faris around until they reach the bedroom, because right now, he's in control, and Faris wants to change that. as soon as they both hit the mattress, he's got his hands in the back of Rhys' neat hair, gripping it tight enough to make him whine a little, dragging him down until their mouths meet and then flipping them both over until he's on top of Rhys. the sticky-waxy feeling of lipstick pushing against his mouth is still a little bit odd to Faris, as is the taste of it when he forces Rhys' lips apart with his tongue and kisses him bruising-hard. Faris bites at Rhys' lips to keep him occupied while he kicks his shoes off and digs the leather collar out of his pocket, and Rhys whines, gasps when Faris tightens the hold on the back of his head.

“Faris, you're hurting me,” he says once he manages to pull his head back just enough, and it's not so much a request to stop as it is an affirmation, begging Faris to continue.

“well, since you got what you want.” Faris takes the collar into both hands, wraps it around Rhys' neck and buckles it just tightly enough to be a bit uncomfortable, but not enough to choke, watches Rhys' face still and those dark brown eyes focus back on him. he looks expectant, obedient. like a good little whore. “I expect you to let me take what I want now.” Faris leans forward and kisses Rhys' forehead, then his lips, softer this time, and slips one finger between the pale skin of his throat and the firm leather. “and right now, I want you to do as I say and be a good girl.”

“yes.” Rhys swallows and Faris can feel it, and then says, “yes, of course.”

“excellent,” Faris says, strokes his fingers gently through the back of Rhys' hair where he'd previously messed it up, and because Rhys' mouth is right there, all lipstick-red and slightly smudged at the edges and inviting, he kisses it again. “take my clothes off.”

Rhys' fingers are clumsy when they push Faris' coat down his shoulders, work off the suit jacket he's wearing, like he's not sure what to do with them. the room seems too warm, getting progressively cooler as Rhys removes more layers. he struggles with undoing Faris' tie and his fingers slip and curl uselessly when he's trying to unbutton his shirt. Rhys has never been good at taking clothes off, he's better at lying back and letting someone else do the work for him, and normally, Faris would be amused, but right now he's just enraged because if Rhys was better at this he'd probably have his mouth stuffed full with cock already.

“hurry up already.”

“I'm sorry, Faris.” Rhys finally manages to work open the last button on his shirt, then moves his hands down to unbuckle Faris' belt and undo his fly. he pushes the shirt away, trails his cold fingers over Faris' chest, and pulls his tight jeans down as far as they will go.

“you'd better be.” Faris stands up to step from his trousers, kicking the socks off with them while he's at it. he leers down at Rhys, half-sitting half-laying on the bed with his nylon and his heels and his dress in perfect order, and Faris has got to admit that he really does look like a girl right now. “take my pants off, too.”

Rhys is quick this time, licks his lips while he pulls the briefs down Faris' legs and watches them slide down to the floor. now the room seems cold, too cold, especially on the sensitive skin where Faris is already half hard, but Rhys' hands are warm where he's still got them planted on his thighs.

“come here.” when he rises to his feet, Rhys is careful, braces himself on the wall when he's trying to not fall over in his heels, but his knees still buckle and shake, and it's obvious he hasn't done this a lot. the soft velvet of his dress presses to Faris' chest, rubs against his growing erection when Faris pulls Rhys close to kiss him yet again, without either of them having to do any awkward contortions to make their mouths meet. even in this dress, in this objectively ridiculous getup, Faris suddenly feels like they're far more equal than usual, and when Rhys' hands move between them to grope and stroke and grab hold of his cock, he gathers them together and pushes them into his face.

“stop that, don't touch me. get back down. and take those shoes off.”

Faris forces Rhys down onto the mattress by his wrists, so he's just sitting on the very edge of the bed, watches him kick his heels aside. he's even painted his toenails, what the fuck.

“what do you want me to do?” Rhys' mouth is hanging half open, already swollen and stained red around the edges, and to Faris, it seems so, so inviting. he steps closer, close enough to nudge the tip of his cock against his lips and cradle the back of his head with one hand.

“suck,” Faris says, commands, really, and when Rhys' hand goes to ring around the base of his dick, he pushes it away. “don't use your hands. just your mouth.” this is better, watching Rhys fold his hands in his lap and slowly ease his head forward to take the very tip into his mouth, to see him do what he's supposed to do is almost more satisfying than the feeling of soft heat that's slowly enclosing Faris' cock. he slides his mouth down further, takes the head of it almost to the back of his throat. around the thick flesh, Rhys' mouth is gaping open, stretched out so far it must be painful, the red making a harsh contrast to both their skin tones, and he's flicking his tongue against the underside, teasingly soft. Faris has to resist the urge to thrust his hips forward, even when he wants to watch Rhys take as much as he can and feel that velvet heat all the way around his cock, and maybe most importantly, to watch him struggle and choke, to assert that he's the one who's in control here and that Rhys loves every bit of that.

Rhys pulls back when Faris' hips twitch with holding back, almost like he can tell, and he wipes his mouth. “it's okay, come on. I can take it. let me just. do I have permission to use my hands?” and it seems like he's already lost his composure, too turned on to form proper sentences. he's so easy and Faris loves it.

“go ahead.”

“thank you.” Rhys gives a quick red-smeared smile before he plants one hand on Faris' hip, keeps him still and then proceeds to guide his cock into his mouth with the other.

it's deeper than before, now, past the point that makes something inside Rhys crack audibly and that makes his eyes water, causes the dark around them to start running ever so slowly. Faris isn't sure what's better, to feel the muscles of Rhys' throat shift and try to swallow around his cock or the look in Rhys' eyes, fixed on his with complete adoration, devotion. his red fingernails dig into Faris' hip when Rhys starts bobbing his head, pulling back enough to let Faris' dick slip from the tightness of his throat only to take it back in seconds after. Faris has to admit there's something about watching his make-up form black lines down his cheeks, about how red his face is getting and the way the lipstick keeps smudging more and more, something about the way Rhys' face is getting progressively uglier while below the neck, he's still all prettied up in his dress and heels. then, though, there's also something about the bulge that's ever so slowly tenting the velvet, and Faris feels like he should maybe give him some gratification for being so good.

“hey, slow down.” he moves the hand that had been loosely holding Rhys by the back of his head to his cock, pulls it away from his mouth slowly and bends down to kiss Rhys once more. Rhys tastes like lipstick and saliva heavy the way it gets from sucking cock, and Faris reaches around him to undo the zip of his dress. “take that off for me, yes?”

“of course,” Rhys replies, voice hoarse and sore, but he's still smiling when he stands up to slide the straps down his skinny shoulders and then push the dress all the way to the floor, almost in anticipation of what's next, maybe. “what now?”

“think I'll fuck you next.” Faris pauses to reach for the lube on the bedside and places it in Rhys' lap. he's wearing lacy knickers again, so tight that the head of his already-hard cock has forced itself out of the waistband, and honestly, like this, with smeared make-up and those nylon stockings he would almost, just almost pass for a woman, if it weren't for his flat chest and the way his dick is obviously straining against the sheer-white fabric, and Faris has to admit that it's really fucking hot. he doesn't understand why they didn't do this sooner. "prepare yourself, yeah?"

Rhys just nods, licks his lips obediently and moves from his sitting position to a kneeling one, pushes the knickers down on his hips just low enough to allow access. he pours a generous amount of lube out onto his fingers before he reaches around himself, and with the other hand, he gestures for Faris to come closer again.

then he's got his mouth on Faris' cock yet again, sucks it down not quite as deeply this time around, and Faris would be almost displeased if he couldn't see Rhys' arm work somewhere behind his back, hear the soft noises escape from his full mouth. for a few minutes, he simply watches, keeps one hand on Rhys' cheek while Rhys flicks and swirls his tongue and works his hand around the base which he can't reach right now. he watches Rhys ride his own fingers with a look of ecstasy on his face, a look Faris knows very well, and also a look which he knows can only get more ecstatic. maybe he's focussing a bit too much on himself, though, because his mouth keeps getting lazier, his breathing more erratic and the muffled sounds from the back of his throat louder. he doesn't complain though when Faris tightens the grip he's got on his head with one hand and uses the other to push his cock further into Rhys' mouth, simply keeps gasping and moaning and giving Faris that look, because if there's one thing that Faris knows about him it's that he loves anything Faris loves, loves to watch him try to keep his composure and to satisfy him, to listen to the soft groans that come from his mouth and to get off on Faris getting off. in that way, he's pretty much perfect.

still, though, he can't help but automatically pull back when he hits the back of Rhys' throat yet again, makes him choke out that cracking sound, and then he's bending down to kiss Rhys yet again, trails his hands along the track marks of tears and mascara on Rhys' cheeks. Faris can tell that he's already close, judged by the way he's rocking down fast against his hand and how he moans into Faris' mouth while their lips are connected, senseless noises at first before it turns into something into something slightly more coherent.

“fuck, Faris, please...”

“what do you want?” Faris reaches out behind Rhys, grabs his wrist and pulls it toward him after wiping Rhys' hand clean on the sheets, presses both his wrists down and kisses him again. “tell me.”

“I don't care,” Rhys says, voice so heavy and low it's more of a whisper, “just fuck me already.”

“on your stomach, then. yes?”

“sounds perfect.” Rhys lies back on the mattress, turns around so his face is buried in the sheets. the way he raises his arse upwards is more than obscene, like he's offering up his already somewhat stretched hole, but still, Faris keeps his composure and slowly slips the knickers down his legs to his ankles. he slicks his hand up with lube before he runs it down his cock and then pushes in, not carefully, but slowly.

the garbled noise that comes from Rhys' mouth borders on embarrassing, an incomprehensible mixture of gasps and wordless noises, with words that vaguely sound like “Faris” and “fuck” mixed in.

“keep it shut, you little slag, will you?” Faris hisses when he links his arms around Rhys' skinny waist in an attempt to impale him further on his cock, but really, he can understand, what's with how fucking tight his insides are, squeezing down around him hot and smooth.

Rhys' fingers bite into the sheets and he whispers out, “I'm sorry,” before he goes back to pressing out little noises with every single thrust, noises that Faris can not just hear but also feel with how close he's got his front pressed to Rhys' back. he smears their mouths together, feels Rhys tangle one hand in his hair to keep him close, and when he opens his eyes, Rhys is there with smudged black eyes and an equally smudged red mouth, traces of tears and spit on his face and his hair a mess, and Faris feels like he's gone all the way around the spectrum from fucked out-ugly to fucked out-beautiful. he wishes there was some way for Rhys to see it as well, to see himself all fucked up and ecstatic with getting fucked, and only then does he remember the mirror across from the bed.

Faris hates that thing, normally, always hated the thought of getting watched by himself while he's fucking Rhys. this is different, though, he wants to see himself fuck this Rhys with his nylon stockings and his lipstick from every angle possible.

“hang on a second,” he groans between thrusts, between feeling Rhys contract his muscles and arching into every thrust, desperate like he always is. “got an idea. can you move that way?”

it's awkward, in a way, trying to adjust themselves on the bed with their limbs entangled, but in the end, Faris has Rhys how he wants him, on his hands and knees facing the mirror. he begins thrusting again, slowly at first, and watches the Rhys in the mirror contort his face in a mix of pain and pleasure. he gasps and squeezes his eyes shut when Faris shifts the angle his hips, and then he figures that just having the mirror one isn't enough. Faris leans forward and tugs Rhys back against his chest, moves so he's kneeling and Rhys is sitting in his lap, his head turned just enough to shower messy kisses all over Faris' face.

“what's that idea you've got then?” he asks while he's rocking his hips back and forth on Faris' cock, grinding himself down onto it, and he grins like he's too good for it.

Faris grabs his chin and tilts his head forward, keeps his face still so he can watch himself, the way his mouth hangs open with groans and how his skin glitters with sweat. “look how pretty you are when I fuck you.”

he slides his hands from Rhys' waist down to his thighs, strokes the lace there, “like a cheap little whore,” and really, that's what Rhys basically is with his red lips, and out of the corner of his eye Faris can see him making eye contact with himself, feel him moaning and feel how he fucks himself faster on his cock, hard enough to be skin-slapping-skin noisy, and he knows neither of them are going to last much longer.

“Faris, fuck,” Rhys gasps out, desperate and whining, “harder, please, come on,” and really, Faris is tempted to say no, to try and drag this out a little bit longer, but then, Rhys is so beautiful in his lap he's got a desire to ruin it, and that means letting him come first.

“I think I want to finish on your face,” he says into the patch of skin on the side of Rhys' neck, all while running his one hand to Rhys' dick and starting to stroke, feel it already slick with precome. at the same time, he grinds his hips back harder against Rhys', aims for that spot inside of him that's sure to make him come in just a few more thrusts. “can I do that?”

“I don't care,” Rhys gasps back, throws his head back and then Faris can feel it before it happens. “just.”

it's the way the muscles inside Rhys clench down on his cock for a few split seconds before they start to flutter and Rhys rocks himself back and forth, groans out a mess of syllables and fragments that doesn't really mean anything, and Faris fucks him through it, all while trying his hardest not to come right then and there, until Rhys goes limp in his grip and slumps forward.

“pull out, fuck.”

Faris does, he watches Rhys turn over and gesture for him to come close, that look of desperation still in his eyes even after he'd already come. he reaches for Faris' sticky hand first, licks it clean with quick strokes of his tongue even when his face is scrunching up with disgust, and then his hands move to where Faris is still aching hard, so close it hurts. Rhys licks his lips wantonly, runs his tongue with some of the white liquid still caught on it over his red bottom lip where the shades mingle, and it's only a few strokes until Faris comes as well, slow splatters over Rhys' mouth and his cheeks that itch all the way in his spine and almost ache when his cock pulses.

it's the most beautiful thing he's seen yet.


End file.
